


I'll be fine (probably)

by Angst_BuriTTo



Series: New York Pigeons and Brooklyn Sass [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Bucky Barnes After Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Burrito farts linger even 20+ year later, But my best work is currently waiting to be posted in October-November this year, Crack, Detox, Forgot partial New York Nudity, Gen, Hallucinations, Multiple Personalities, New York Pigeons, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One (1) Daddy reference, Oops, Partial tho, Poor Bucky Barnes, Poor Soldier, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Public Nudity, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Snark, er - Freeform, humor is not my forte, not my best work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angst_BuriTTo/pseuds/Angst_BuriTTo
Summary: The Soldier is not having a very good time after he leaves Dorito man on the shore for Giant Pigeon man to find.Hilarious for us though.(I am so ashamed of this summary please just read)





	I'll be fine (probably)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Soldier decides that he hates leather.

Wet leather is even worse and pinches places that has even the Soldier trying to resist the urge to rip off a certain area of covering that would flash half the pigeons in New York and one very grumpy looking cat.

The Soldier stared at the cat and the pigeons, debating weather he cared more about possible flashing of civilians and pigeons and one grumpy cat, or the increasing itch and pinch in an area that The Soldier hoped that he would one day use again.

With a glance down to said area, then a glance around, the Soldier took off his tack jacket and left the black t-shirt and wrapped the jacket around his waist.

Looking defiantly at the judging eyes of New York pigeons and a grumpy old cat, the Soldier, making sure he was covered adequately and reached under, using his metal arm to grasp the ridicules leather pants at the front and ripped them at the crotch.

 _Ahhhh_.

Forget the target.

 ** _This_** was Freedom.

  
The cat hisses.

 

 

* * *

 

The Soldier finds he hates HYDRA. Purely for deciding it was an innovative idea to put leather on an assassin that was supposed to be silent and unseen.

The sound of shrieking mice followed every step the Soldier makes and the itch of drying river water made the Soldier want to strip naked in the middle of the street, no matter the fact that it would probably make the old guy preaching about God and sin scream and throw a bible at him.

Waiting for the bus to come, the Soldier cursed the fact that HYDRA had not given him the ability to drive; acquiring the nearest vehicle and driving it regardless of his ability to drive without hitting multiple signposts and a small cactus (that mission was the last time the Soldier was put behind the wheel of any vehicle that wasn’t a plane) sounded more appealing by the second.

The Soldier’s right eye twitched at the sound of the person with impractical bright blue hair and useless plastic glasses popping gum and chewing loudly beside him on the bench.

The Soldier debated the merits of shoving the persons phone that made constant dings in alongside the gum.

He wondered if there were any cacti to run into in New York.

 

* * *

 

Bus rides were now officially the Soldiers least favorite way to travel. They smelt of unwashed clothing and last weeks vomit, and there seemed to be a screaming child and a glaring old lady in every single one of them. Whether or not it was the same old lady disguised in different clothing and facial masks was a debatable subject; every single old lady seemed to glare at the Soldier with the same disapproving stare.

The Soldier refrained from telling little old lady number 4 that he was most likely older than her and she had no reason to judge. Her knitted cardigan that blinded the Soldiers retinas and made him wish his eyes a swift death. His own ratty hooded sweater, jacket, baggy jeans and ballcap combo (fresh from a thrift shop that smelled like mothballs and a fisherman’s scraps) was tame in comparison.  
“You need to cut your hair young man.” The little old lady #4 snapped at him on his way out of the bus.

“You need to burn your cardigan, but I didn’t say anything.” The Soldier replied emotionlessly, ignoring Little old lady #4’s scandalized gasp.

 

 

* * *

 

If the Soldier had thought public buses were bad, they had nothing on the New York subway.

Squished between a sweating obese businessman that looked like Peirce if he survived off fast-food restaurants and the sheer power of gravity, and a woman with bleach blond hair that looked like pink had vomited on her and a makeup shop had taken residence on her orange-tanned face.

The Soldier was trying to ignore Pink-Vomit-Lady who was talking loudly on the phone when suddenly he heard-

“ _You gonna spank me Daddy_?”

The Soldier suddenly felt his whole face turn red, hot and his eyes shot wide.

  
He prayed that this hell ride would end soon.

 

* * *

 

The Soldier yet again wonders about the possible locations of small cacti in New York when he discovers he has to get on another subway train.

 

 

* * *

The Soldier stood in front of the HYDRA safehouse, abandoned in 1982 after a incident (never feed Agent Killner burritos if you wish to live) and breathed a sigh of relief.

Finally. He had shelter from the craziness of this Very Bad Day.

Walking in the door, the Soldier wrinkled his nose as he smelt the remnants of taco even 28 years later.

Agent Killner apparenty had a very smelly superpower. Maybe Hydra should have invested in Stinkbombs to subdue the world; the results robably would have been more effective then three helicarriars that a human pigeon and a walking American Dorito could take down.

The Soldier decided that for the next 24 hours, he was laying in this dusty bed and not moving; not even if Peirce himself walked in in a clown suit and demanded he jjoin him to dance the jig.

Ok. The Soldier was beginning to lose coherency.

Sleep.

.  
..  
…  
….  
…..  
……  
……..

Now he couldn’t get the image out of his head.

Thanks, brain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
Waking up was not fun.

HYDRA had kept the Soldier drugged up so bad that it couldn’t even be called a cocktail; more like a cocktail party, along with twenty Stepford wives and five teacup poodles.

The Soldier realized belatedly that he probably should be in a hospital right around the time he was brushing his teeth and his hair began to sing Madonna’s “Like a Virgin”.

Huh.

“Huh.” Said the Soldier.

He should probably get some medical help

“I should probably get some medical help.” Mused The soldier, the toothbrush that had a picture of a cartoon Spanish child with a purple backpack with a face, hanging out of his mouth.

  
His hair sprouted wings and flew away.

 

“I’ll be fine.” The Soldier decided.

His bald head sprouted snakes and began to hiss at him

“Probably.” He amended, amused.

The snakes began to hiss out a wonderful rendition of “Diamonds are a girls best friend”.

 

* * *

 

Hallucinations are not fun.

The third time a car talks to him to critique his fashion choices and his hair (that sound remarkably like a younger version of little old lady #4) he decides to skip patrol and wait it out inside his burrito-scented safe house.

Unfortunately, the neighbors next door had no care that the Soldier was going through HYDRA drug Cocktail party withdrawal and at exactly 9:26pm began to have loud, kinky, enthusiastic sex.

The Soldier decided he just would have to deal with talking cars and went to take a walk, instead.

If he saw a purple grinning cat and a giant white rabbit following him around, well…he just decided to go with it.

He ended up having a very odd cup of tea in a teashop.

When he woke up the next morning, he discovered the ‘teashop' was actually a small stream and he had been drinking literal leaf water.

 

* * *

 

  
The hallucinating stopped by day ten.

 

* * *

 

  
The Soldier decided on a new mission.

Because apparently the target was incapable of staying alive even if the Soldier went against orders to keep the stupid blond breathing.

“Stupid.” The Asset mutters as he watches Rogers through his crosshairs.

The blond was limping out of the hospital, ignoring the nurse that tried to uselessly follow him with a wheelchair while Samuel Wilson waves his arms and points to the chair.

The Soldier hears a coo to his left on the roof and stares into the judging eyes of yet another New York pigeon.

“I will shoot all of your kind.” The Soldier threatens the pigeon.

The pigeon tilts it head and judges him further.

 

* * *

 

The Soldier suspects he has been blacking out.

It was the third time he had come into awareness staring through a sniper scope at Rogers while accompanied by no less then three sassy pigeons and occasionally a cat – grumpiness of the feline wavered depending on the increasingly rank scent of the Soldier – that the Soldier figured something was wrong.

_Oh so you finally notice, do ya?_

The Soldier jumped approximatlly 1.8 meters into the air and – sadly – the three pigeons mearly ruffled there feathers and cood.

Who the fuck-

 _Relax sweetheart_ , the voice snarked, _nobody snuck up on you; im in your head._

“then I have gone insane.” Well. More insane. You try and be tortured and your brain scrambled worse then the balls in a bingo hall and see how much sanity you have left.

 _I’m real sweetheart_ , the voice laughed, _and I ain’t goin’ away anytime soon. I have a mission of my own, see?_

“Rogers, Target, Captain America. He is your mission?”

The Soldier decided that he was already insane, so adding ‘talking to the voice in his head’ was only a blip on the radar.

 _He saved our life, pal_ , the voice snapped, _we may not know the guy from Adam, but in my day, when somebody saves your life, we repay it._

“But we already returned the favor.” We? The Soldier shrugged. We it was, then.

 _Yeah well_ , the voice mentally shrugged (how can a voice mentally shrug??? The Soldier needed research) _the Punk doesn’t look like he can keep himself alive without someone on his six. Plus, saving an ass like that should be law._

The Asset looked through his scope at said ass.

“America’s Ass.” The Asset stated.

_Damn straight_

“Like a circle.” The Asset hummed.

....

.......

..........

New mission:

_Protecc America’s Ass_

* * *

 

 

 

 


End file.
